Blessing an Abomination
by SteampunkStrawberry
Summary: "I've never admitted this before, but I've killed more than I care to admit. But these... abominations... we need to do everything in our power to destroy them." A collection of one-shots/drabbles, with later romance.
1. Chapter 1

**_AN: This first piece is mostly just to introduce my Dragonborn, and her predicament. The second part will come as soon as I'm done writing it, for those who are looking forward to it :) Please enjoy, and please review. Constructive criticism is very welcome._**

"That, is the power I offer you." Harkon informs her yet again, referring to his monstrous, hovering form, as if it were some priceless gift he was hardly willing to give away. Which it was, although it was much more pleasant to be speaking to his human form to her. "Now, make your choice." He presses, his impatience growing. He begins to wonder if he's made the right choice to offer such a thing to an outsider, but it is the only appropriate repayment he can find for her rescuing his daughter. His fellow vampires around the tables begin to whisper and murmur to each other, witnessing their Lord with surprise making the stranger the such an offer.

"I accept your gift." Viirreyliik utters after a prolonged silence, and her eyes widen just a fraction, as if she didn't mean for those words to spill out. With the exchange of a few words with the man, she'd begun to not feel like herself and here she is, disagreeing with the words coming out of her mouth. But it is too late now. She watches him approach, and a sinister smile crawls onto his features. He can smell her blood coursing faster with the ever growing tension between them. She gulps nervously as he pulls down the hood of her black robe, and a cold hand snakes around to the back of her neck and through her silky white hair. He gently pulls her head back a bit, exposing her thin, pale neck. She catches a glint of long, sharp fangs just before he leaves her field of vision, and he leaves warm breath on her neck.

The digging of his fangs, popping into her skin burns, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She grabs hold of his arm, digging her nails deep to try and cope with the pain. Eventually his fangs eject, and he licks up what blood he left. Not a way to provoke, but a formal feeding gesture of experienced vampires. He backs away, blood dripping from his lips and into his beard. Viirreyliik places a hand on her neck where he'd bit, and blood soon leaks through her fingers, and she grimaces at the man in front if her. The murmuring and whispering around the table return as she begins to feel faint from bloodloss, grabbing hold of the table with her other hand to try and keep balance. The world around her begins to spin and she falls to her knees, beginning to black out. The woman she'd rescued approaches and tries to aid her, but she isn't awake to see.

* * *

She gets home as soon as she can, but the walk from the Volkihar Castle to Solitude is long, and the carriage ride from Solitude to Riften is even longer. She's killed many vampires in the past, and she fears they aren't so different now. With their prominent amber eyes and their pale skin, they'll be kin. She felt many eyes were on her, feeling passers by gawking at her pale skin and fiery eyes, despite trying to hide them under her hood. Her Snow Elven blood was responsible for making her such a pale Dark Elf, but she still was one, but that provided no comfort.

She is relieved to be inside the city's walls and on her way home finally. She walks the walkways of Riften with her head down, avoiding any kind of eye contact.

It was unavoidable when a pair of boots stepped right into her path. She looks up and gasps to see a city guard, holding a torch to light the way during his night patrol. He doesn't bother to greet her and walk away, no, he leans in to get a better look at her, and she stands, frozen and eyes wide, not to provoke any suspicion. She can just imagine how menacing her eyes must look, glowing in the torch's flickering light. She gulps as she can see the eyes under his helmet narrow.

Then he pulls away.

"Don't like those eyes you got. They've got a bad hunger to them." Her mouth opens ajar.

"Stay out of trouble, elf." He warns, turning to walk around her, continuing his patrol. She remains, not knowing what to do, or what do say. Then she darts to her house. She bursts through the door and yanks her prized Nightingale blade from it's plaque and breathes on it. She hurriedly wipes away the cloudy film with her robe's sleeve and reveals its shiny, reflective edge. Taking careful care of the blade, she examines herself.

It was indeed beginning. The rich, bloody shade of her eyes now begins to taint with a bright, translucent amber that characterizes many vampires. What color she had was beginning to leave her already pale face, and instead begins to settle in her lips, leaving them full and crimson. She tosses the blade onto her bed and she swings her chest's lid open, and she begins rummaging through it. She'd use anything to hide her soon-to-be grotesque appearance, although it'd have to be something practical. Her chest is filled with countless amulets and jewelry, soul gems and potions... and masks. She holds up one of many masks, running her fingers along it's many ridges. She turns it over to see who was honored to wear it before her, and finds that the wedges and dots that formed letters of the dragon language spelled out Zahkriisos.

Thinking back, she remembers the battle well, struggling to stay out of the flooded portion of the cavern with Teldryn Sero, a spellsword she hired back in Solstheim. She was impressed she could even read the name. She learned a lot during her stay with the Greybeards, learning shouts and the language of the dragons. She knew her collecting of Dragon Priest masks would help her somewhere down the road. Even the ones from her travels in Solstheim, and this was the time. She pulls off her hood down and covers her face with the mask. She pulls the leather strap over her head and throws her hood back on. She finds that she can see perfectly fine, and breathe perfectly fine. It wasn't all that heavy either. It was perfect. But this only solves one of her problems. Soon, she would have too feed.


	2. A Revelation

Viirreyliik makes sure she has a good grip on the cork, and pops it off with immense care, so she doesn't spill the precious liquid in the little bottle. From the table nearby, she grabs her Nightingale blade that she already polished to a shine, and holds it up to look at herself. She brings up the bottle, identical to that of a bottle you'd store a healing potion in, to her lips. Her eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed as she can already taste it's cool, salty contents. She downs it quickly before her fangs can pierce her bottom lip, as they had many times before when she had fed, as she still lacked experience with being a vampire. Her eyes flick back to her reflection, and she watches as the familiar energy rushs up her body, and feels the reviving rush of energy she hadn't had since last time. She quickly wipes the blood from her mouth with her sleeve, leaving a messy smear she's too lazy to clean up.

She's too intent on watching her fangs retract and the redness in her lips fade. More importantly, she watches her Dunmer eyes fill with color again, but she's disappointed when a small glint of amber lingers. Nonetheless, she was glad to look normal, almost, once again. She finds it a blessing that a vampire's most prominent characteristics are repressed once they have fed. She is well aware they become more noticeable the hungrier she gets. She knows that no suspicion would come of her drinking out of a health potion, and she can feed without being compromised. Since she's become accustom to wearing her mask, she finds it convenient that it still serves as an extra precaution. She wipes off the blood she'd left, and ties another potion of blood and a potion of health to the rope that held her black robes closed, and pulls the her mask over her face. It was time to go back to the temple.

* * *

The Dunmer stands before the candle lit shrine, hands clasped and resting against his forehead, with his elbows resting atop the worn, wooden table. He was meditating as he had been, still thankful that the Temple, and the rest of Dawnstar, was at peace once again. Two sudden knocks at the door pull him out of his peaceful, meditative state. He merely glances in the door's direction in annoyance, having no clue as to who it could be. Bandits nor thieves looking to loot the place would ever be polite enough to knock on the door of his humble sanctum. Did anyone else know he was there? Surely the women who had aided him does, by why would she come back? She hardly seemed like she'd take him up on his pitiful offer of repayment. He knew she could handle herself, with the way she did when they cleared out this temple. Destruction and Conjuration skills almost excelling his own eliminated many of the inhabitants that had been resurrected a few days ago. Despite his doubts, the masked face of Viirreyliik peaks in from the front door, and upon seeing him, the cloaked figure approaches.

"Well I have to say it's a surprise to see you again. What brings you back, sera?" Erandur stands from his shrine and greets with genuine curiosity.

"I've come to ask if your offer is still open."  
"Of course. I didn't thing you'd even consider it, after what I put you through."  
She shakes her head in disagreement.  
"I agreed to help you. And to tell you the truth, those cultists were nothing compared to what I deal with." She casually takes a seat of the bench left of the table.  
"Oh really now?" He crosses his arms. "Well, it seems you know what you're doing."  
"You could say that." She agrees. "But to be honest, I feel I may need help with some... things."  
"I couldn't have imagined. Well what sort of things?"  
Beneath her mask she opens her mouth to speak, but stops herself. She could've said a lot of things. Like she was the Dragonborn of the era. Or that she was also a vampire. Or that they needed to crawl into a Nordic ruin for a grave robbing job she was putting off for too long. She remembered, and mentally kicked herself for saying she needed help. She didn't need the priest's help. All she sought was companionship from the Dunmer. It was cold and lonely in the Nord's homeland.  
"It is a long story I'm afraid. I can tell you on the way."  
"On the way to where?"  
"Let us head to Morthal."  
He turns back to the table that houses his precious shine, and picks up from it an amulet, and places the charm in his fingers, letting the beaded chain hang between them. He brings it up to his lips, and kisses it lightly, then proceeds to press the charm against his heart.  
"What's that for?"  
He shifts his eyes over to her. "As much as I'd love to haul the shrine around where ever we may travel," he pulls the amulet from his chest, clutching it lovingly. "An amulet of Mara will have to do."  
"I see." Her voice is dry, but he doesn't seem to notice.  
"Let's not waste any time then."

* * *

The Dragonborn is experienced at dealing with Bandits, and never hesitates to ransack any camp she happens to pass by in her travels, even when she brings the priest with her. The Bandits are effortless to dispatch in small numbers, with his destruction spells and her conjured weapons. But with their magicka running low, one night, it simply isn't enough. There were more bandits than they previously thought at a camp they were hoping the take refuge at, waiting out a snow storm. Now, they are surrounded. Several bandits form a circle, and will soon close in on them. All wore smug smiles, and some even chuckle at their impending victory with confidence. They're ready, with their weapons out, to tear the fragile mages apart. The duo has all the magic they could wield out, watching for any of the bulky forms to strike first. A bandit that had been eyeing Eranduri brings up his Orcish blade and taps it gently to his lips, feeling how dangerously sharp it is, and how easily it'd slash them to pieces. It only increases Erandur's anxiety, and he swings out the dragonbone mace the Dragonborn was kind enough to give him, and backs away, trying to make more space between him and the bandits. Viirreyliik feels him back into her, and it pulls her from her racing thoughts.  
"What are we suppose to do now?" Erandur whispers to his left, eyes still fixed on the bandits.  
"Viira!" Another whisper escapes his clenched teeth when she doesn't reply, amplified by his growing impatience. The Dragonborn reaches behind her and grabs his arm, as to assure him,  
"Don't worry, I have a plan." and just as the bandits are about to strike, she steps forth.  
"Durnehviir! Aid me!" She shouts, causing a thunderous boom to suddenly emit from the skies above, and shakes the ground, throwing everyone off balance. Eerie lavender clouds roll in, spawning the ghostly undead beast of a dragon, who promptly sounds its deafening roar. It lands with enough force to knock everyone off of their feet, and with the bandits distracted by the new threat, Viira holds Erandur back from harming the beast, while the bandits charge toward it.  
"He is here to help us." He assures him, and although she knows the dragon's intentions, she knew she hardly sounded convincing to the Dunmer who knew dragons were to be slain. They watch as Durnehviir breathes a massive gout of frost to take down the majority of the bandits, showering them in shards of ice, slowing their movement until they freeze entirely. From his jaws that ooze puss, he spits remnants of warriors that had fallen victim to him in the past, and the bones clatter in a pile in the snow before him. The piles reanimate themselves as skeletal warriors, wielding ancient weaponry to take down the remaining bandits. Viira remains behind Erandur and loosens her grip, but her hands remain, clinging to his shoulders. She casts a spell to pacify him, seeing that only the dragon remains. After the dust and blood stained stow had settled, Durnehviir raises his head proudly and looks down at the Dragonborn, who had approached him.  
"Ahh... faal stin su se Vaas ahst lingrah laat. Nii los aan zin wah aam hio, Quahnaariin. (The free air of Vaas at long last. It is an honor to serve you, Vanquisher.)"  
She bows her head in understanding, then dismisses him. "You're needed no longer."  
"Yes, Thuri."  
She watches as his decaying wings kick up dust and freshly fallen snow with each thrash, catching air and then slowly disappearing into the night sky. She knew what she'd find when she turned around. A baffled expression, bright red eyes, full of questions. She lets out a sigh, turns around to Erandur, his mouth agape. It takes him a few moments to process everything.  
"You're the..." He begins, raising a finger in her direction.  
"I'm sorry."  
"You called him; with the.. the shouting." He remarks in disbelief, taking a step closer to her.  
"We needed help, did we not?" She shrugs. He heard her, clearly state her point, but this revelation left him almost wordless. "He spoke in a language, I could not understand it."  
"It's the language of the Dragons. I understood him; because—"  
"This is absolutely amazing." His tone had changed; low, but now alight with amazement.  
"I knew He or She would appear sooner or later with the dragons' return. But I never thought it would be you."  
"Yeah, well, neither had I." She bends down to search a bandit's pouch for any gold or potions, and Erandur moves on to loot the others.

AN: Sorry about the late update. Didn't really know how to end it, but more chapters are coming soon. :)


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